254 



RECREATION. 



to me — old frontiersman though I 

 am- — a labyrinth of unmarked and 

 disconnected passages through an 

 endless jungle. He bounded on, 

 made strong by the joy of his mis- 

 sion, and only loitered to make sure 

 that I was safely over every creek or 

 log and around every unmarked an- 

 gle. The mountain was steep and 

 the day warm, b'ut the boy-guide 

 did not note the discomfort. 



He raised his hand at last. His 

 eyes sparkled, and he bent low as he 

 approached a big log. There was a 

 ledge of rock as steep as a roof. The 

 water rolled down and poured over the 

 eaves in a thin sheet. The foot of the 

 ledge was 50 yards away, and its 

 slope extended 50 feet back. The 

 bare rocky space was the big horn 

 lick. If my guide was not mistaken 

 (and I could not doubt his faith) the 

 game would soon be right before me. 

 And so they were. Before the wait- 

 ing had become the least wearisome 

 a row of dark heads- stood out from 

 the green fringe of brush. The own- 

 ers hesitated, stamped and snorted. 

 They disappeared. They had scent- 

 ed a foe. 



I turned and Roy read my disap- 

 pointment in my face. 



"They will come again," he said. 

 "They can't be scared away from the 

 lick. If they did not see you move 



they would come within 10 feet of 

 you to get a drink." 



Ten minutes from the time of the 

 first appearance five sheep walked out 

 upon the rocks. It was a grand pic- 

 ture.* The leader carried a head of 

 horns that made him look like an 

 old-fashioned rocking-chair with cir- 

 cling arms. He was nervous and un- 

 settled in purpose, but he sucked 

 away at the shallow water that spread 

 over the rocks as eagerly as if he 

 had been burning with thirst. 



"You take the big one," said Roy. 



"And you shoot the other buck," 

 said I, "when I count three." 



My gun spoke, and the big sheep 

 rolled down toward us ; but Roy's 

 gun snapped. The old spring was 

 too weak to fire the cartridge. Roy's 

 manhood seemed to forsake him. He 

 cried and crouched down in disgrace 

 because he failed to bring down his 

 sheep. 



Yet he did not go wholly unre- 

 warded. Some large shining pieces 

 of silver jingled merrily in the pocket 

 of his ragged overalls as he trotted 

 back over the trail, and a brand-new 

 rifle, which went to him a few weeks 

 later, will, I trust, enable him to get 

 meat hereafter when needed at the 

 family camp. 



* See frontispiece. 



She climbs no more Olympus way — 



This literary love of mine — 

 To catch such vision as she may, 



In glimpses from that height divine. 



Marveling much, I braved the odds 

 To lure her back to love's abodes, 



And found her fled the immortal gods 

 To speed her wheel on country roads. 



Emma Carleton. 



